Battle of the Bulge
by happycabbage75
Summary: Sam and Dean are trapped on a farm with some unusual residents...
1. Chapter 1

**Battle of the Bulge**

Summary: Sam and Dean are trapped on a farm with some unusual residents…

Disclaimer: The _Supernatural_ people own every blessed thing about these characters.

_Well, since everyone so patiently allowed me to work through my AHBL issues with the last story, you are hereby presented, Gentle Reader, with this story. A giant, giant puff piece. _

Chapter One

* * *

Dean slammed on the brakes and braced himself against the steering wheel. Sam, too, braced his arms on the dash to keep from bashing into it.

The car slid for what felt like forever, then rocked back, finally coming to a halt. Dean's heart was thundering in his chest and he was breathing like he'd run a race. He scrubbed a shaking hand over his face and stared out the windshield at the thing standing less than a foot from the front bumper.

"Dude, that is the biggest dog I've ever seen."

"That's because it's a cow, Dean," Sam said, letting his hands fall away from the dash.

Dean just stared at the animal standing in the glare of the headlights as it stared back at him. "Shouldn't a cow be… I don't know… bigger?"

They both jumped as a man knocked on the passenger side window. "Everybody ok?"

"Yeah," Sam called out, his voice still unsteady.

Dean got out and walked around the front of the car, giving the cow a wide berth. It watched him as he moved and Dean fought the ludicrous urge to go for the gun he had tucked into his jeans beneath his shirt. He'd never really been around farm animals. Or any animals for that matter. Maybe cows watched you.

"Sorry about that," the man said as Dean stopped in front of him. He appeared to be average height and weight, in his forties, wearing jeans and a checked shirt that looked like it had been hastily buttoned.

Sam, too, got out of the car and came to stand beside Dean. The man's eyes traveled from Dean up to Sam and stopped. Dean thought he saw the faintest hint of distaste cross the man's features, but it quickly disappeared and Dean thought perhaps he'd imagined it.

"The animals got outside the fence somehow," the man explained, slightly out of breath. "We're trying to gather them all up, but I couldn't get to the road before you guys got there."

"Need some help?" Dean offered. So far the cow was still parked squarely in front of his bumper and they weren't going anywhere until it moved.

"I wouldn't say no." The man gave a wan smile. "My wife and I have spent the last hour trying to corral them."

Dean turned, fully intending to start with the animal that would have totaled his car had he not managed to stop in time. "Pardon me for asking," Dean frowned, "but… uh… isn't your cow a little… small?"

"It's a mini-moo," the man said indignantly.

Dean blinked and turned back. "Come again?"

"A mini-moo," the man enunciated carefully, as if explaining to a simpleton. "A miniature cow. I breed miniatures for pets, show animals, petting zoos…"

"A mini-moo," Dean nodded. He shared an incredulous look with Sam who was trying not to smile. "Got it."

"I raise miniature horses, pygmy goats, pot-bellied pigs…"

Dean looked behind the man and realized the cow wasn't the only animal in sight. Other small animals were spread out across the grass. A house was set back off the road and he could dimly see several sets of fences around it as well as several barns.

"Well, let's start-" Dean shouted involuntarily, feeling a vise-like pressure on his right hand followed by a nearly burning sensation. He tore his hand away, already feeling blood cross his palm. "Son of a…" He whirled and stumbled back, realizing the cow had snuck up behind him. "It bit me!"

He protectively cradled his bleeding hand close to his chest and glared at the black and white cow, once again fighting the urge to go for his gun. Mini-moo or not, the thing was going to be hamburger if it took one more step.

Sam jogged to the car and rummaged in the car's glove compartment for several seconds before hurrying back with a little flashlight kept there for reading maps. "Let me see," he said, sounding like he was talking to a skittish six year old. Dean bit his lip not to tell Sam where to stick his flashlight. Instead he held out his hand, frowning as blood dripped from it onto the ground.

Sam shone the dim light onto it and grimaced. "How bad does it hurt?"

Dean knew that was Sam-speak for 'Can you wait until we get to the motel for me to stitch it up'. The cow had bitten into the meaty part of his hand, below the wrist, but above the fingers. The most annoying thing was that it was his gun hand. Dean spared the cow another glare. Freaking thing _had_ to pick his gun hand to chomp on.

"It'll hold," Dean said through clenched teeth.

The cow's owner bent over him looking at his hand. "That doesn't look so good. You'd better come inside." Before Dean could decline, the man turned and shouted, "Annie!" An answering shout came out of the darkness, though they couldn't see anyone. "Annie, find the first aid kit!" he yelled, then turned back to them. "My wife's behind the house. I'm Tommy, by the way. Tommy Henderson."

"Nice to meet you," Sam said politely. "This is Dean. I'm Sam."

Dean merely grunted, concentrating on not jarring his hand, holding it with his other as they walked toward the house, although he did spare a look behind them to make sure the cow wasn't following. Stupid thing could have taken off his fingers.

As they approached Dean saw that it was a smaller house than he would have guessed, probably only a few rooms, one story with a low pitched roof. Tommy led them up the few steps into the living room and then through into the kitchen. At the same time they walked in, a woman appeared through another door carrying a small first aid kit.

"What happened?" she asked nervously, her eyes darting from her husband to Sam to Dean, still standing, holding his bloody hand.

"Tubby bit him," Tommy frowned, taking the kit from her and emptying it out on the kitchen table.

"Tubby?" the woman asked, surprised. "But she wouldn't hurt a fly."

"I don't know." Tommy shook his head. "Something has them spooked. They're all acting weird. This is Sam," he pointed, "and this is Dean."

He made a sudden movement to take Dean's arm, grabbing it above the wrist. Instinctively Dean used his uninjured hand, slamming it into the man's chest and knocking him back.

"Hey!" The man held up his hands. "Just… just trying to help," he said, rubbing his chest and visibly rethinking the decision to let them into his house. His wife backed up a step her eyes darting toward the nearest exit.

"Sorry," Dean muttered. "Surprised me." He couldn't think straight and the guy had startled him. His hand felt like it was on fire, which couldn't be right. He'd been bitten before. And by a lot meaner and uglier things than a mini-moo. It shouldn't be hurting this badly.

"Why don't you let me do that?" Sam said, taking the supplies from a still stunned and wary Tommy. Dean didn't bother to look, but he knew Sam was wearing his 'we're completely trustworthy' face. "I can patch Dean up if you… uhh… want to keep trying to get the animals put away?"

Tommy eyed them both worriedly, especially Dean, but then nodded. "Right," he said, letting out a slow breath. "Come on, Annie. We need to get the animals in."

"There are cloths in the drawer by the sink if you need them," Annie said timidly, then followed her husband out toward the front door. She was a tiny woman and Dean couldn't help thinking that Tommy had found a miniature wife to match his farm. She was shorter than average and positively anorexic.

"If I had two hands," Dean said, "I'd make that woman a sandwich… or forty. She could use them."

"Right now I'm more concerned with your hand," Sam said, gingerly setting his own hand beneath Dean's to lift it. Dean sucked in a pained gasp and immediately tried to pull away. Sam stopped him grasping Dean's shoulder to keep him from moving. "What is it?"

"Hurts," Dean hissed. And it was spreading. The burn was spreading up his arm. He grabbed his arm just below the elbow almost like a tourniquet as if he could stop the pain's march up his limb.

"Come here," Sam said, keeping a firm grip on Dean's arm and pulling him forward toward the sink. Sam quickly turned the water on and shoved Dean's hand under the faucet. Dean almost howled as the water made contact with the wound, but just stopped himself. He faintly heard Sam swear and then felt him pull back his shirtsleeve. A second later, Sam jerked him forward, pulling his whole arm into the sink. Dean was forced to bend at the waist, unable to see around Sam as he used the spray nozzle to douse his arm. It was an awkward position, but Dean didn't say anything since the burning sensation was lessening. Less burning was good.

After another minute of letting the water wash over his arm, Sam finally released him and let him stand back. Dean immediately saw why Sam was even now watching him worriedly. They looked like burns. Angry red weals stretched from the bite, up his arm to just below the elbow.

"Why do I get the feeling Elsie the not-so-happy cow has something to do with this?" Dean asked through clenched teeth. They certainly hurt like burns, though thankfully the movement up his arm had stopped.

"They look like _chemical_ burns," Sam said, shaking his head. "How on earth did a cow do _that_?"

Before Dean could answer, the front door banged open and Tommy and his wife came barreling back inside. Sam and Dean hurried into the living room to see the couple both staring through the curtains out onto the front lawn.

"What's going on?" Sam demanded. Annie only pointed out the front window. Dean and Sam both rushed forward to look out and saw why the couple had run back inside.

Standing on the lawn, dimly visible in the light coming from the barns, they saw animal after animal, all staring back at them, their eyes glowing in the darkness.

"I knew it," Dean muttered. "I should have shot the mini-moo when I had the chance."

* * *

_More soon…_


	2. Chapter 2

**Battle of the Bulge**

Summary: Sam and Dean are trapped on a farm with some unusual residents…

_For those of you who might be curious, mini-moos are very real. Cute little critters, too. Google 'em and you'll get some pictures._

Chapter Two

* * *

"Anyone want to share with the rest of the class?" Dean asked, stepping back from the windows.

Sam watched him as he carefully folded his injured arm close to his chest. The burns were patchy and red, standing out starkly from the rest of the skin and Sam knew they had to be unbelievably painful. Whether Dean realized it or not he was sweating and shaking slightly.

Tommy turned away from the window, wide-eyed. "There's something wrong with them."

"Really? What gave it away? Was it the glowing eyes or the fact that a bunch of _farm animals_ are staring at us?" Dean said hotly.

"I don't understand," Annie said. "Tommy, what's happening?" She was trembling like a leaf, but her husband made no move to comfort her.

"Has anything like this ever happened before?" Sam asked, trying to keep his voice even.

"The animals were acting strange today," Tommy answered. "Just jumpy, jittery. Then tonight they managed to get out of their pens."

"But nothing like this has ever happened before _here_," Sam pressed.

"No." Tommy shook his head. "I've been in this business for years. I've never seen animals behave like that."

He looked from Sam to Dean and then back. Once again Sam saw the vague expression of distaste cross his face as if there were something rancid in the room.

"Is there a problem?" Dean demanded. "I mean other than the obvious barnyard situation?"

Tommy looked up at Sam again, frowning, but shook his head. "It's fine."

Sam wasn't sure he believed him, but they had bigger fish to fry. "Ok, this is going to sound weird, but has… has anything bad ever happened on the land here? Has anything ever happened in the house or in one of the barns?"

Tommy and his wife were both shaking their heads. "What does that have to do with anything?" he asked confusedly.

"Has there ever been a fire… or even a chemical spill here?" Sam asked, thinking out loud. "One of the barns burn with the animals inside? Anything… catastrophic?"

"Who _are_ you two? Are you crazy?" Annie asked, hysteria creeping into her voice. "This is a farm! Not a disaster movie!"

"Focus, people!" Dean barked and Sam knew the pain was making Dean even more short-tempered than usual. "Has anyone ever _died_ here?"

Tommy looked like he'd been struck, staring at them dumbly, but Annie began backing away. "You _are_ crazy!"

"Tommy?" Sam said.

The man continued to stare at them, then finally shook himself out of his frozen state. "No!"

"How long have you lived here?" Dean asked. "Maybe something happened before you moved in."

"I've lived here since I was a kid," Tommy said. "My parents ran this farm before I did."

"Annie?" Sam asked.

"I'm not from around here. Tommy and I only got married a couple of years ago."

Dean and Sam looked at each other uncertainly. They were up a creek without a paddle and no way to do any real research.

"Ok, you two watch the front. Dean, you got a minute?" Sam nodded toward the kitchen. Dean followed him into the next room. Sam saw that he was bent over slightly, hunching against the pain. "How's the arm?"

"Not good," he bit out. "So why don't you not talk about it and say what you came in here to say?"

Instead of answering, Sam looked through the blinds on the windows over the sink. There were more animals in the back, all standing facing the house. They stood stock-still, their glowing eyes watching them. He looked back to see that Dean had pulled out one of the dinette chairs and was sitting down, still holding his arm close to his chest without letting it actually touch it.

"You want me to wrap it?" Sam asked.

Dean barely shook his head. "Just… just don't touch it."

Sam sighed. He would need to see to it soon whether Dean liked it or not, but for the moment he decided to let it pass. "So you believe him?" he asked quietly.

"Tommy?"

"Yeah."

"No, not really."

Sam frowned. "Yeah, me neither."

"One thing's for sure," Dean smiled thinly, "he's not too fond of you."

"He keeps looking at me like I'm defective," Sam agreed.

"No place for a sasquatch on a mini-farm," Dean said, his smile broadening. "I think the guy might have a complex or something."

"That's great, Dean," Sam sighed, "but what are we supposed to do about the animals?"

"Wait 'til daylight and hope they don't storm the gates?" Dean suggested.

Sam stabbed a finger toward the window. "You really think they're gonna wait that long?"

"Unless Tommy's got a doggy door, I don't think it's gonna be a problem," Dean shot back.

As if in answer, something threw itself against the rear door. Sam hurriedly grabbed the other dinette chair and shoved it beneath the door handle.

"Watch out for the pygmy goats, Sammy," he heard Dean say with a tight laugh. "They look like ankle-biters to me."

"Dean, this is not funny!" Sam said angrily.

"How is this not funny? A freakin' cow bit me and we're under siege by a bunch of farm animals! To top that off, I think the mini-moo gave me leprosy. Are there any burros out there?" Dean asked. "I've always wanted to ride a burro down into the Grand Canyon."

Sam worriedly headed back toward Dean. He was breathing heavily, continuing to babble as he headed toward hyperventilation.

"Burros are like… mini-donkeys, aren't they? He should… have one of those."

"Dean, what's wrong?"

Something slammed into the back door again, harder this time, making them both jump.

Tommy and Annie hurried in from the front room. "What's going on?" the man asked.

"They're trying to get in," Sam said, though his eyes were on Dean who was grimacing, bent over in the chair, gasping for air.

"He ok?" Tommy asked.

"The front door," Sam ordered in his best Dean voice. "Go watch it."

Tommy didn't like it, but he obeyed and left the room. Sam knelt in front of Dean. "Tell me what's going on, man."

"Hurts."

"The burns?"

"_Hurts_." It seemed to be all he could manage.

Sam noticed a red looking patch on Dean's neck. Jerking his brother's collar back Sam saw red weals, as he watched, spreading across Dean's neckline. He knew there had to be more that he couldn't see.

"Where's your shower?" Sam demanded.

Annie frowned in confusion. "What?"

"Your shower!" Sam said frantically. He pulled Dean to his feet and started pushing him toward the door that didn't go to the living room. It was a tiny house. There were only so many options.

"Turn to the right," Annie said hesitantly.

Sam guided Dean in front of him into the bathroom. Annie flipped on the light while Sam bodily lifted Dean into the tub, facing the showerhead, and turned the water on full blast.

Almost immediately, Dean let out a gasp of relief as the water soaked through his clothes. He tilted his head back, letting the water wash over his neck and chest. Sam quickly grabbed the gun Dean still had tucked at his back and stuffed it into his own pocket out of Annie's sight. He then grabbed Dean by the shoulders and turned him so that he was thoroughly soaked, hair, shirt, jeans, and shoes.

After several moments, Dean's breathing was still fast, but Sam could see that he was calming. "Better?" he asked.

"You know if I stink, you can just tell me," Dean said, his voice ragged. "You don't have to bathe me yourself." He eyed his soggy clothes. "And your technique pretty much sucks."

Sam remained quiet, watching as Dean shifted so that the water spread more evenly across his back and neck.

"It's… it's the animals."

Both men turned at the sound of Annie's nervously whispered words. "What about them?" Sam asked.

"They're angry." She looked behind her, back toward the kitchen, making sure Tommy was still out of earshot.

"Why would they be angry, Annie?" Sam coaxed gently.

"Hey, Sam?"

"In a minute, Dean."

"_Now_, Sam," Dean insisted.

"What?" Sam turned back to see Dean pointing out the bathroom window.

"If Annie's in here, then who's the chick out on the lawn?"

* * *

_More tomorrow…_


	3. Chapter 3

**Battle of the Bulge**

Summary: Sam and Dean are trapped on a farm with some unusual residents…

_Allrighty… A few answers for you here, but you won't get the real ones (well a few more anyway) until tomorrow._

Chapter Three

* * *

Sam looked out the window and fought the urge to swear. This mess just _had_ to get worse. Ten feet from the house, with animals flanking her on either side, stood a woman. She was barely visible in the gloom. Only her shape and the length of her disheveled hair marked her as female, but like the animals, her eyes were bright in the darkness. 

"Either one of your neighbors is possessed or there's a dead chick in the yard," Dean said, completely deadpan. "Neither is good."

"We don't have any neighbors," Annie replied breathlessly.

"Well, that answers that."

One instant the woman was standing with the animals, the next she was inches away from Dean's face, just on the other side of the window. Dean stumbled back, forgetting he was standing in the tub, forcing Sam to catch him to keep him from falling. Dean gasped and awkwardly scrambled to his feet. Sam suspected half the speed was to keep pressure off his burns.

The ghost's eyes were all for Dean, watching as he painfully righted himself. "You can't trust him."

"Who Tommy?" Dean asked.

"He wants you to change. They always do." Her voice was hoarse, almost gravelly like a 20 year smoker.

"What?" Dean asked, confused.

Her eyes drifted to Sam and then back to Dean. "Your brother has promised to protect you, but he's angry that he has to." Her eyes glowed furiously. "Watch him. He made you this way, but he's still angry." Her voice rose angrily. "He'll turn on you."

"Dean…" Sam reached toward him as if to draw Dean away.

"Don't touch him." The ghost made a gesture and Sam staggered back, banging into the sink, feeling like he'd been backhanded.

Dean turned, silently asking if he were all right. Sam nodded in the affirmative and Dean turned back to the ghost. "Who are you?" he asked, ignoring the taunts.

The woman's eyes traveled past them both to Annie. "You must be the replacement wife."

"I… I beg your pardon?" she barely managed to whisper.

"Don't worry," she rasped. "I'll take care of Tommy for you. You'll be free soon." The ghost flickered and instantly reappeared back with the line of animals.

Sam leaned in around Dean and shut the water off. "Everybody in the kitchen. We need to talk. Fast."

Annie left first while Sam followed a shaky and now sodden Dean back the way they'd come. Dean practically fell into the kitchen chair and immediately a puddle started forming around him on the linoleum.

"You're gonna tell me this time if the burn thing starts up again, right?" Sam said, more statement than question. They were in crisis mode and Dean looked like something the cat had dragged in, all soggy, matted hair and misery.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean answered, only half-listening.

"Why is he wet?" Tommy demanded, coming in from the front room.

"I was born under a cloud," Dean grunted.

"Don't worry about it," Sam said, trying to get them on track. "Annie, you told us the animals were angry."

Tommy turned on his wife. "What have you been telling them?"

The poor anorexic woman looked newly frightened of her husband and Sam's growing discomfort with their host went up another notch.

"They're animals, Annie. They don't know anything," the man said angrily.

"It's not right, Tommy!" The words burst out of her, clearly surprising her as much as her husband. He looked furious that she had dared to contradict him, but she persevered nonetheless. "Look at them out there and… and now that… that woman!"

"What woman?" Tommy demanded sharply. "What are you talking about?"

"Ok, one thing at a time," Sam said. "Annie, tell me about the animals. What's wrong with them?"

"Tommy… He's always trying to breed the animals smaller and smaller."

"Of course, I am!" the man shouted. "We raise miniatures!"

Annie cringed, but kept her fearful eyes on Sam. "The problem is that at a certain point you start getting genetic anomalies."

Dean snorted. "Like mutant powers?" he murmured. "If those mini-pigs can fly, I'm gonna be pissed."

"Dean," Sam said in frustration.

Dean sighed and Sam instantly felt like he's kicked a hurt dog. Dean took it better than Annie, but Sam felt uncomfortably like Tommy for just a second. His brother's jaw was clenched and though he was trying to hide it with his practiced slouch, Dean was holding himself very carefully and consciously controlling his breathing. He'd been trying to distract himself from the pain and Sam had smacked him for it.

"The last four foals have been born clubfooted," Annie said. "Tommy had to put them down. The problems with the goats… It was worse. They all had to be destroyed."

"Stop sniveling, Annie," Tommy ordered viciously.

"Tone it down, Tom." Dean had raised his head and was looking very directly at Tommy. Sam had to agree. Tommy started to open his mouth to retort and Dean's expression hardened. Bullying a woman just because you could was high on Dean's list for reasons to start a fight. Sam watched Tommy actively decide that maybe he wasn't the Big Dog in the room and back down. Sam almost smiled. After all, Dean was soaking wet, sitting in a puddle, and obviously injured.

Tommy shifted on his feet. "It's just part of the business," he said, his tone more subdued. "Sometimes you get abnormalities. You put the animal down."

Annie glared at him. "They're small enough. And you just keep going even though you have to put almost all of them down and now look!" She furiously jabbed a finger toward the yard. "Look what you've done!"

"They're _never_ small enough," Tommy said, his temper rising again. "I did what had to be done."

"Ok, so the animals are ticked." Sam ran a hand over his face resignedly and once again felt the sting where the ghost had hit him. "Next problem. Tommy, were you married before?" he asked. Dean, he noticed, again focused his attention on the man, curious to gauge his reaction.

"I beg your pardon?"

Sam narrowed his eyes in annoyance. He could practically see the guy getting ready to jerk them around. "What happened to your first wife, Tommy?"

"What do you mean, what happened to her? Nothing happened to her. She moved to Tucson."

Dean shook his head. "Dude, stay away from poker games. You've got a tell the size of Texas."

"What?"

Dean shrugged and winced at the movement. "Well, that and your dead wife's outside leading the barnyard rebellion."

Tommy looked thunderstruck, his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish. "She… how… what?"

"Your wife's dead," Sam said straightly. "We need to know how."

"Sh… she's in Tucson," Tommy stammered, wide-eyed.

"Annie, have you ever met his first wife?" Sam asked. "Ever seen her?"

"No and Tommy doesn't have any old pictures," she answered, her features drawn and strained. "That… that was her… ghost?"

Something banged into the back door again making the doorjamb start to splinter.

"Annie, do you have any salt?" Dean asked.

She went to a cabinet and pulled out a small canister. "Just this and what's on the table."

Sam saw Dean slump wearily. "That's not gonna be enough," he said. "Sam, you're gonna have to make it to the car. You still got my gun?"

Sam fished it out of his pocket and both Tommy and Annie gasped. Sam ignored them, more concerned with his brother who was grimacing as he tried to sit up straight and pull the car keys out of his pocket with his damaged hand.

"Shoot whatever you have to," Dean ordered. "We can't afford another bite." He threw the keys and then the salt shaker from the table to him. "In case anything non-cow-like comes at you."

The door splintered further under another blow.

"Go," Dean urged.

Sam ran for the front door, the gun held in one hand, salt in the other. He was out the door and running for the car, passing through the line of animals before they realized he was there. A few turned to follow him, but Sam kept running. He had the keys out and jammed them into the trunk lid. He grabbed two bags, slammed the trunk closed and ran, leaving the keys. Dean could yell at him for that later.

The animals continued to follow his movements, but the possessed creatures weren't fast enough. He had to hurdle several goats and a pig. His high school track coach would have been proud. Or horrified, depending. He vaulted the steps and slammed the door closed, then locked it, though he doubted the cows would figure out deadbolts anytime soon.

Sam carried the bags into the kitchen to find that Dean had backed Tommy into a corner and made an arc of salt around him with what little he had. Tommy was looking at him like he was nuts, but he was staying put in the corner.

Sam really didn't care what Tommy thought. He was far more concerned that it should have been Dean behind the salt line. Dean was the one with burns spreading across his skin for no discernable reason.

"I'm just getting barbequed. Ghost said she was going to take care of him for Annie," Dean said as if he'd heard what Sam was thinking. "Dead outranks crispy."

It started almost unnoticeably, a few animals bleating, but the noise grew in just a handful of seconds to a cacophony of animal noises. Sam and Dean both hurried to the window. As they watched, the animals parted, making a path for the woman to pass through. She walked slowly, approaching the house to the accompaniment of bleating, mooing, and grunting. Suddenly it occurred to Sam what the animals were doing. They were cheerleading.

"Tommy, what was your first wife's name?" Sam asked.

"Why?"

"Answer the question, jackass," Dean snapped.

"Clara. What does it matter?"

The back door slammed open, listing drunkenly on its hinges. Clara stopped in the doorway.

"Stay behind the salt," Dean ordered Tommy.

The ghost's gaze fell on Dean, confusion on her face. "Why are you helping him? You should…" Her angry, glowing eyes traveled to Sam, looking him up and down. As if understanding had suddenly dawned on her she nodded almost sorrowfully.

She pointed to her now terrified husband. "I'll be back for you, Tommy. You won't get away that easily. You either," she eyed Sam. The ghost then looked back toward Dean. "You. You need to be taught a lesson." She turned to leave and crooked her finger as if asking him to follow.

Jerked off his feet, Dean was out the door and gone before Sam could do anything to stop it.

* * *

_More tomorrow…_


	4. Chapter 4

**Battle of the Bulge**

Summary: Sam and Dean are trapped on a farm with some unusual residents…

_Right… Answers were promised. Let's see what we can do about that…_

Chapter Four

* * *

"All right, Tommy, no more crap." Sam stalked over to the man allowing him to see every bit of his anger. "Where's your wife buried?" 

The man shook his head stubbornly. "You're insane. This is _insane_."

"Denial really doesn't work when your dead wife just ripped the door off its hinges," Sam snarled. "Clara just took off with my brother and he's already hurt. Tell me what you did with the body so I can do something about it!"

"Tommy?" Annie asked brokenly. She had backed away from him, running into the wall, her eyes horrified.

Tommy looked at her and then back at Sam. "I… I didn't mean to do it," he said defensively.

"Moot point, Tommy." Sam had to order himself not to knock the guy's block off. "You did do it and now we have to deal with it before she kills us."

"You don't understand," Tommy said. "She just wouldn't listen to me. I told her and told her. I warned her. I _begged_ her. But she let herself go and wouldn't do anything about it."

"I don't care _why_ you did it," Sam bit out. "I just need to know where you buried her. You did bury her, didn't you?"

The man shrugged. "Sort of."

"Tommy, if you don't tell me, I'll break the salt line." Sam was seeing red and had half a mind to do it anyway. Clara would leave Dean and come back for her real target. "I'll let her rip you apart. Now _where's the body_?"

"I…" Tommy sagged back against the wall in sudden defeat. "I put her in the septic tank."

Annie let out a muffled cry and slid down the wall to sit on the floor. Sam spared her a glance and felt yet another distinct twinge of pity for the woman. She looked beyond horrified. She was bereft, simply staring at her husband.

"You put Clara's body in the septic tank," Sam said in disbelief.

"Yeah." Tommy appeared almost embarrassed. "You ever read the package on the stuff you have to put down the toilet every so often to keep the septic system working? The bacteria and the enzyme stuff in those tanks, it'll eat through clothes, skin, hair… almost anything. Bet it'd have a good go at bone too. By the time the septic guy comes to pump out the tank five or six years later, no one'll know the difference."

No real body, nothing Sam could do anything useful with anyway. He had to get to Dean. Sam picked up Dean's rock salt-loaded shotgun and left the kitchen at a run.

* * *

Ow. 

Dean really couldn't force his mind to process much more than that. Ow. His whole body felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending screaming for his attention.

Burns _were_ pain. Dean had a sudden terrifying thought and felt his heart beat painfully in his chest, blood roaring in his ears blocking everything else out. His year was up. Hell. Burning. Burns. He couldn't keep himself from remembering how Meg had described it. A prison made of bone and flesh and blood and fear.

Dean's eyes flew open. He was in a barn. He was pretty sure Hell wasn't in a barn. Though as near as he could tell it just might be in Arkansas. It was certainly the armpit of the universe.

Dean groaned. He was lying flat on his back, but couldn't seem to make himself care. His body had already been on overload thanks to the burns and then the ghost had dragged him outside, scraping him raw.

"I can help you."

Dean tilted his head toward the sound of the raspy voice. The dead woman was standing several feet away looking down at him. Her hair was ratty and matted and her clothing looked moth-eaten. "Well, you've done a bang up job so far."

"They've made you what you are, but I can help you."

Dean sighed and struggled into a sitting position. "Lady, I'm a self-made man." What was it with the ghosts and the armchair psychoanalysis? Ghost had issues. He had issues. So they wanted to talk 'til the cows came home. Thankfully they were in a barn so that should be soon. The cows seemed to have it in for him anyway.

"Your father and brother, they made you hard, a fighter so that you could protect them. They ordered you, begged you to protect them and now Sam blames you when that is all you know how to do."

Dean snorted. "I tried that flower-arranging class, but it didn't really take."

The ghost continued watching him, her steady gaze boring into him until Dean shifted uneasily under the intense scrutiny. "You hide what you really think, what you feel, ignore women you could grow to love, all for their sake and Sam calls you emotionally detached, antisocial, calloused…"

"If you call me a sociopath with a heart of gold I'm gonna hurl," Dean cut her off.

"They made you this way," she said, her hoarse voice grating on Dean's nerves. "You deny yourself to your own hurt because they have always demanded it of you. But denying your own needs is killing you. You are counting the days. You are following orders until it kills you, just like it killed me."

"I seriously doubt it's _just_ like it killed you," Dean frowned.

"Hide behind your humor. I did, too. You are no happier with who you are than I was," she said coldly. "Your father trained you to protect Sam at all costs. Since he was a child, your brother has turned to you for protection, begged you to save him time and again, has taken it for granted that you would. Now you will forfeit your life. You will give up everything because they require it of you."

"Lady, it's called sacrifice," Dean said harshly. "It ain't a sacrifice if it doesn't cost you anything."

But she wasn't listening. The ghost looked away toward what Dean assumed was the house. "Tommy said he loved me. He promised to love and protect me. And I promised to obey."

"What happened?" Dean saw Sam appear in the doorway and quickly motioned for him to stay put. He did register, however, that Sam was holding Marigold, aiming her steadily at the ghost. Dean's favorite sawed-off shotgun was always a welcome addition to any situation.

"I tried to get the weight off," she confessed quietly. "I tried and tried, but Tommy kept after me. He was so cruel. I starved myself trying to please him. He called me a cow. He was so obsessed with his miniatures. He always wanted smaller. Everything had to be smaller and he was stuck with a fat wife."

Dean really looked at her for the first time. Beneath the ragged clothing, Clara wasn't a large woman. She wasn't thin though either. Pleasantly plump, he would probably say.

"Tommy screamed at me, called me everything he could think of. He broke me and then blamed me for being weak. I hated him. I hated myself. One day I was so miserable, that I drove straight to the store and bought a box of donuts. They were chocolate covered, cream filled. They were like heaven."

Dean just waited. He knew what was coming.

"Tommy caught me eating them and bashed my head in," she said, her gaze distant, seeing another place and time. "He used the trophy for his mini-moo. I've always resented that."

Her sorrow-filled eyes returned to Dean. "Don't give up everything just because they tell you to. You are what you are. You can't let them make you feel like you have to do it or that you're not right somehow."

Dean cocked his head to one side. "Did you just call me a battered housewife?"

"They turn on you anyway. They always turn on you. Whatever you do it's not enough, not good enough, or it's your fault somehow. Sam is angry with you for making the deal." Clara turned and looked at Sam, startling him. "Sam's like Tommy." Her voice dropped to a low, angry growl. "He blames you for being the person he has made you."

"Sam, please tell me you know where she's buried," Dean pleaded. "She's making my head hurt."

Before Sam could even open his mouth to reply, the ghost let out a screeching howl. Sam was pulled in and flung to the hard-packed dirt floor. Clara knelt over him and held him flat, her hand splayed across his chest.

Dean grit his teeth in frustration. Sam had fallen on top of Marigold. Dean really wanted his shotgun right now, but he had a dead woman and a huge brother blocking him.

"I warned you, Sam," the ghost hissed. "Your brother isn't the only one who needs to be taught a lesson." Sam gave a shout, abruptly cut off as he fought to get away. "Dean is killing himself for you. You've made him what he is, a miserable self-sacrificing creature all because he loves you."

"Clara, stop!" Dean said, anger flashing through him, giving him the strength to fight his way to his feet. Still, she paid no attention. Clara held Sam, refusing to let him budge. Sam clutched at his chest, helpless to stop her. Dean could see Sam's shirt being eaten away beneath Clara's fingers, knew burns were forming on Sam's skin.

"Did Dean beg you not to go to college? When your father went missing, did Dean beg you to stay with him or did he drive you back to your door? No, Dean accepted what you wanted even though he disagreed. And now you have the nerve to be angry that he made the deal."

Dean tried to move closer, knowing all he had to do was get to Marigold, but Clara held him back with a wave of her other hand.

"You blame Dean for being what _you_ made him," she continued. "You blame _him_ for what _you_ asked him to be. He brought you back, sacrificing himself because that is what you and your father taught him to do. Tommy made me what I was. I obeyed and obeyed until I was starving to death and then I made a decision Tommy didn't like. My husband killed me to show me how wrong I was. Will you let Dean die just to show how wrong he was to make the deal?"

Dean heard Sam whimper in pain, one of the most bloodcurdling sounds Dean knew. He couldn't move, but there was always one thing he could do. He could talk. "Sam, you're too freaking tall."

The ghost didn't stop what she was doing, but Dean could tell she was listening.

"You're a freak of nature. You're a sasquatch. It's a wonder we can find clothes to fit you." Dean laughed, a purposely cruel sound. "Good thing there are Big & Tall shops for weirdoes like you. Are there chick sasquatches? Be easier to put you in dresses."

Clara turned to him. "I know what you're trying to do. It won't work. I know the truth."

Dean fought the urge to swear. It was so much easier to lie to things that couldn't read your mind. Dean took a deep, steadying breath ignoring the pain as the burns stretched. Apparently he was going to have to get meaner about this.

"Sam, you're a bleeding heart," he growled. "You don't have the stomach, the smarts or the stamina for this job." He took another breath and plunged on seeing the ghost start to falter. "I've tried to train you since you were a kid and you still suck. Look at the mess you've gotten yourself into. You're just dragging me down."

The woman screeched and released Sam, rounding on Dean. "You're protecting him, like you're protecting Tommy! Didn't you understand anything that I said to you?"

Dean couldn't help a smirk. "I am what I am." Even if she didn't believe him, she'd let go of Sam and that was all that mattered.

Clara suddenly looked up as if she'd heard something Dean hadn't. He felt her hold on him dissipate and had the sudden sinking feeling Tommy wasn't behind his salt line anymore.

"Tommy," she whispered as she walked out of the barn. "You're _mine_."

* * *

_Remember people. They're just donuts. They're not love. That said, I think I still need one! More tomorrow…_


	5. Chapter 5

**Battle of the Bulge**

Summary: Sam and Dean are trapped on a farm with some unusual residents…

_Ok, that was as close as we're gonna get to anything serious… This is supposed to be a lighthearted romp. So, on with the show._

Chapter Five

* * *

"You ok, Sammy?" Dean stumbled closer and painfully knelt beside him. "Sam?"

"Dean?" Sam groaned and rolled over onto his side, one hand against his chest. "Felt like she was trying to burn a hole through to China."

Dean pushed the shotgun Sam had fallen on out of the way and then urged his brother back flat on the ground so he could look at him. Sam's shirt was ragged like it had been eaten through and Dean could already see a stark red handprint outlined against Sam's skin underneath.

"Is it spreading?" Dean asked.

Sam remained still for several seconds taking inventory. His breathing was fast, but finally he shook his head. "I don't think so."

"You gonna tell me if it does?"

His eyes met Dean's. "Are you?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Would Stallone whine about a few burns or would he go do something about it?"

Sam's breath hitched as he sat up. "Tell me you did not just compare yourself to Rambo."

Dean snorted though he was still looking Sam up and down. "Dude, you know I hate camping. But you better not have messed up M… my shotgun," he warned.

"The gun's fine," Sam declared in semi-amused exasperation. "It nearly gouged a hole in me from the other side, but glad your priorities are straight."

"Hey," Dean said indignantly, "she's a valuable member of the team."

"She's got the stomach, smarts and stamina for the job?" Sam eyed him. "Nice alliteration by the way."

Dean grinned. "Thought it was kinda poetic myself. Now, _please_ tell me you know where the body is," he said.

"Septic tank."

"Tommy stashed her in the septic tank?"

Sam nodded.

Dean twisted up his face in disgust. "Well, that gives a whole new meaning to putting up with Tommy's crap. How long's she been dead, you think?"

"He's been married to Annie for a couple of years," Sam offered. "Would've been some time before then too."

"There'd be almost nothing left of her," Dean said thoughtfully. "Pretty ingenious really."

Sam turned a glare on him. "Dean, when you're through being impressed with his corpse disposal technique, we really ought to go keep Clara from killing him."

"Can't say as how I'm overly motivated to protect the guy."

"Well, you should be," Sam shot back. "We gotta do something before your burns start spreading again. Dean, she was trying to hurt me, but she's identifying with you. 'Washing' it off is only stopping it temporarily. You two are connected."

"The septic tank." Dean had a sudden revolting thought. "They're not really burns. The stuff in the septic tank… It _ate_ her. Dude, I'm being digested."

"You didn't answer me before, by the way. _Is_ it still spreading?" Sam asked.

Tell the truth or lie. Sam would just be pissed if he found out later. It had moved all the way up Dean's arm, spread across his back and chest and down his other arm. It was working its way down his back now and up his neck into his hair. "A little. I can deal."

"I'd believe you better if you didn't look like death warmed over," Sam accused.

Dean let out a pained laugh. "Look who's talking."

Sam narrowed his eyes dangerously. "Not funny."

"Just shut up and give me my shotgun." Dean grinned evilly. "I'm downtrodden and need to protect my snot-nosed, unappreciative brother like I've been brainwashed to do. Feel free to disown me for it."

Sam released a still annoyed huff of air. "You should be so lucky. No way you're getting rid of me 'til after I save your sorry deal-making ass." Sam doubtfully held Marigold out toward Dean. "You sure you can hold her?"

"The day I can't shoot because of a cow bite is the day I retire. And the fact that I just had to say that… Dude, our lives are so screwed up."

Sam got up first, groaning as the movement pulled at the wound on his chest. He then grabbed Dean's arm, the one that hadn't been bitten, and hauled him to his feet. Dean gasped and Sam instantly released him, realizing the burns had spread to the other arm.

"A little, huh?" Sam said reproachfully.

Dean had to close his eyes and concentrate on breathing for several seconds or he knew he was going to pass out. His whole body, every nerve ending, was lit up like a Christmas tree. He could barely think it was so fierce.

"Taken out by a cow." The tone was light, but Dean opened his eyes to see Sam watching him intently. He was also staying within arms' reach in case Dean decided standing was optional. "Not exactly gonna get you an honorable mention in Hunter's Weekly."

Dean knew Sam was giving him time, though they both knew they didn't have any to waste.

"It's not a cow, smart ass." Dean's mouth quirked up on one side. "It's a mini-moo. Didn't they teach you anything in school?"

Sam went to the door and peeked out. "You ready?"

"We have any idea how to take care of Clara?" Dean asked, working to straighten up.

"No."

"Ok," he waved for Sam to take the lead, "Glad we cleared that up."

* * *

Sam listened for Dean's faltering steps. He knew the burns were spreading again. The only way to stop it was to stop Clara and it needed to be fast. He could feel the impression of her hand against his chest, five distinct fingers of blistering agony. He could only imagine what Dean was having to push through to stay upright.

As they moved past, the animals paid almost no attention. They were all standing in line, facing the house, intent on whatever was happening inside. Sam had the feeling they were going to let Clara and her opposable thumbs take care of the source of all their problems.

As they approached the back door, they could hear Tommy shouting. "What do you mean you're leaving?" he bellowed. "You ungrateful cow! I've put up with your whining, sniveling…"

"You killed your _wife_, Tommy!" Annie shouted back. "You killed her! You think I could stay here after that?"

Sam hurried through the back door and looked around the room. Sure enough, Tommy was no longer standing behind the salt line. He was in the middle of the room glaring at his wife.

"Tommy, get your ass in the corner," Dean barked. The man took one look at Dean's shotgun and decided to comply. Sam chose not to inform Tommy that Dean had it clamped in his hand that tightly to keep from dropping it.

"Have either of you seen Clara?" Sam asked. They both shook their heads. Sam walked to the bag he'd brought in from the car and pulled out a large canister of salt. He quickly spread lines in front of the doors and the windows over the sink, completely sealing off the kitchen. He heard Dean let out a relieved breath. Sam turned in time to see him sink into a chair.

"You were right," Dean said. "_Really_ should have done that earlier."

"Better?"

Dean nodded. "Instead of a 'my face is on fire' feeling, it's sort of a 'my ass is chapped' feeling."

"Okey dokey," Sam said. "Thanks for the update."

All four of them looked up, hearing noise coming from one of the other rooms. It sounded like someone tossing furniture around.

"Where is it?" they heard Clara shriek. "What did you do with it? I know you didn't get rid of it!"

"What's she looking for?" Sam demanded.

"I have no idea," Tommy answered nervously.

Abruptly the noise stopped. "Don't worry," Dean assured them. "She can't cross the salt lines."

Clara appeared in the doorway behind Dean. She was holding a small short-barreled pistol, but it wasn't like anything Sam had ever seen. The tiny gun looked like it held one shotgun shell.

"You were so proud when you found it," Clara snarled. "A miniature gun, but with a big bang."

Tommy's face twisted in anger and hatred. "Clara, you fat…"

She fired. The gun kicked like a mule in her hand. Had she been alive it would have hurt like her hand was broken, but Clara only smiled triumphantly as her husband slammed into the wall behind him and slumped to the floor. Dean hadn't even had time to turn.

"I heard you call the septic man yesterday. You thought he'd come and haul the last of the evidence away with no one any the wiser," she said to the gasping, dying man on the floor. Clara let the gun clatter to the ground. "But _I'm_ wiser. The sadder, but wiser girl. Goodbye, Tommy."

Tommy took one final rattling gasp and fell silent. At the same instant Clara faded and was gone.

"So, uh…" Dean cleared his throat, sounding almost embarrassed. "I guess I was wrong about her not crossing the salt lines."

Annie screamed and fell to the floor in a dead faint.

* * *

_In case you were curious, a gun like that does exist and firing it hurts like a… well it hurts a _lot_. We'll wrap it all up tomorrow…_


	6. Chapter 6

**Battle of the Bulge**

Summary: Sam and Dean are trapped on a farm with some unusual residents…

_And here you have it all finished up. I hope this little bit of fluff in a very small way helped to alleviate some of the feelings that I may have (completely inadvertently and unexpectedly) _slightly_ traumatized a few of you with the last story. Ahem._

Chapter Six

* * *

"So that didn't go like I figured," Dean said, standing over Tommy's dead body.

Sam's expression was incredulous. "Ya think?"

"Well, how was I supposed to know she was going to do _that_?" Dean said defensively. "Ghosts are usually sneakier. I wasn't expecting her to just whack him."

"So what do we do now?" Sam frowned down at the corpse.

"I hear the septic tank does wonders," Dean tried.

"Dean!"

"I'm just saying!"

"We can't stuff him in the septic tank!"

Dean just shrugged. "Well, then what do you suggest? I don't think the cops are going to go for the 'his dead wife shot him' defense. She's in Albuquerque."

"Tucson," Sam corrected automatically.

"He was cleaning his gun?" Dean suggested.

"From across the room?"

"I guess not." Dean continued to stare down at the wreck of the man on the kitchen floor. He tried briefly to work up a bit of sympathy, but it didn't get him anywhere. As far as Dean could tell, Tommy had terrorized his wives and hadn't cared too much about his animals except to make them smaller and smaller, regardless of the results. He'd seemed like a decent enough guy on the surface, but then that's what Tommy had cared about. Just the surface.

Dean felt a momentary pang of guilt. He'd really never had trouble. He'd been a decent looking kid and he'd grown into a good looking adult. Pretty people just got farther in life. It was the way things worked and he depended on it. As a teen, his dad had shamelessly begun to use him to get information or to get into places that people weren't willing to allow their semi-creepy, hasn't-shaved-or-bathed-in-days looking father. Like everything else Dean owned, it was a tool that he turned to his advantage.

Looking back at Annie, still slumped against the wall, Dean knew her looks hadn't made her life any easier. Dean's gaze traveled to his brother. Sammy might be Mr. Tall-&-I-Work-Out-Too-Much now, but back in the day, he'd been a chubby twelve-year old and Dean had spent more time than he would ever admit threatening anyone who even looked at his brother sideways. That said, Sam's more problematic growing pains might be why he was the more considerate, understanding person he was. Sam had actually worked while Dean had breezed through on his smile and an overabundance of bravado.

"How are your burns?" Sam asked.

"They're already fading," Dean answered offhandedly. He'd felt the pain begin to lessen as soon as the shot was fired. He still felt like he'd been flayed alive, not to mention he was still soggy from his impromptu shower, but give him a little time and he'd never have known they were there. One of the few perks of injuries being supernatural; sometimes they were finished along with the job. "You?" he asked.

"The same."

Annie groaned and tried to sit up. Sam hurried to her side and knelt beside her while she got her bearings, then took her by the arm and helped her into a chair. She didn't speak, only stared at Tommy's bloody remains.

"Sam, maybe we should take her into the other room," Dean advised. Manners sort of demanded not making a wife sit by her dead husband.

"No," Annie said with more strength than Dean would have expected. "Here's fine."

Sam put a hand on her shoulder, trying to draw her attention away from the mess. "How are you feeling?"

"He's gone," Annie said blankly. "He's really gone."

"I'm sorry," Dean murmured. Not so much that Tommy was dead, but he was sorry that she would suffer because of it.

Sam rummaged in the cabinets for a glass, filled it at the sink and brought it to her. She took the glass with a trembling hand and Sam wrapped his own around hers until he was sure she wouldn't drop it.

"He killed her," Annie said matter-of-factly, though her voice was still shaky. "Maybe one day… he would have decided that I wasn't up to standards either."

"Maybe so," Sam said carefully.

"He… he was a difficult husband. Very difficult." She wiped a tear away and set the glass down on the table. "I… I should call the police."

Sam and Dean shared a quick glance. "Yeah, Annie, about that…"

Annie looked up and her eyes were surprisingly clear. "I'll tell them a man broke in. He… he broke in the back door. Tommy got his gun, but the burglar took it away from him and shot him. The man dropped the gun and ran." She raised her eyebrows in a question. "Do you think that would be plausible?"

Dean blinked, taken completely aback. "That would work," he replied.

"The salt." She stood and turned in a circle looking at all of it. "I'll tell them I heard it kept bugs out. We've been having problems." Annie moved toward the sink and pulled a dishcloth out of a drawer beside it. She began wiping the faucet down and then asked, "What else did you touch?"

Dean had to shake his head in near awe at her newfound poise. "Salt, kitchen table and chairs, doorknobs, bathroom."

Annie simply nodded. They watched as she haphazardly put her own hands over where she'd wiped so that her prints would be on the things. "You should go. Both of you."

"You're sure?" Dean asked. He felt uncomfortable leaving the woman alone with her dead husband on the floor. Somehow seemed… ungentlemanly.

Annie looked up at him and suddenly straightened, head held high, like a heavy weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Dean had the distinct impression that Annie was about to become a very merry widow.

"Yes," she nodded again. "I… I don't know who you two are… but I think you two saved my life tonight. And I owe you for that."

"What will you do now?" Sam asked.

Annie looked down at the body and Dean nearly stepped in front of it, afraid she might give Tommy a kick for good measure. Instead she cocked her head to one side, clearly thinking while she looked at her dead husband. Finally, she took in a deep breath, as if she hadn't been able to breathe freely in a long, long time. "I think I'll make myself a sandwich… or forty."

Dean choked out a surprised laugh. "You heard that, did you?"

"Hard to miss. It's a little house," she said, then looked around at the tiny kitchen. "But maybe I'll add on."

Annie walked to the phone on the wall, picked it up and dialed. "Yes…" she said, her voice high and strained, "my husband… he's _dead_… This man… he broke in… and Tommy's dead!"

Dean raised his eyebrows and shot Sam a bemused glance. "Remind me not to cross this woman," he muttered lowly. "She's way too good at this."

"No… no… he ran away… please just hurry…. What?" Annie paused then turned around and looked at Tommy on the floor. "The man… he was... I don't know… Six feet tall maybe… brown hair… Jeans," she said as if suddenly remembering. "He had on jeans… Jeans and a checkered shirt."

Dean quickly realized that Annie had just described Tommy himself as the killer and maybe that was as close to the truth as anything else. Tommy had killed his first wife and in doing so had brought about his own less than stellar end.

"No, I don't know which way he ran… Please! Just get here!" Annie added on a panicked note and hung the phone up.

"Impressive," Dean said. "Scary… but impressive."

"Go on. Both of you," she said. Annie still had her dishcloth in hand and started wiping things down again as she spoke. "I'll have this done before they get here."

Sam and Dean shared one more look and then shrugged simultaneously. They grabbed their things and made their way toward the front. Just as he closed the door, Dean turned back one last time to see Annie standing over her husband.

"Guess what, Tommy," he heard her say, tears once again running down her face. "I just lost 150 pounds. Aren't you proud?"

Dean pulled the door shut and hurried after Sam. There were still animals milling around in the yard, but now that Clara was gone, they were back to just being loose farm animals. Still, Dean gave them a wide berth. The burns might be fading, but the bite on his hand was as real as ever.

"Keys?" Dean asked.

"I left them in the lock on the trunk," Sam said.

"Dude, somebody could just drive off with the car!"

"We're in the middle of nowhere Dean and I was a little busy," Sam said in exasperation.

Dean pulled the keys out of the trunk lid and walked around the side of the car. "You know the rules, Sammy. Fight evil. Save the girl. Protect the car. Not necessarily in that order."

Dean stopped dead in his tracks. The mini-moo was standing in front of his door.

"What's wrong?" Sam had caught the sudden tension and immediately started around the car to him.

"Cow."

"What?"

"This freakin' mini-moo is still staring at me," Dean said.

"Dean, it's just a cow," Sam said, like he was talking to not-too-bright child. He walked past Dean and smacked the animal to get it to move.

"Easy for you to say. It didn't try to bite your hand off," Dean muttered, glaring at the cow as it slowly meandered away.

"Come on," Sam urged. "The cops are on their way."

They hustled into the car and pulled away from the house, Dean purposely heading farther out into the country rather than in any natural direction a policeman would be coming from. He ignored the fact that the mini-moo was still standing in the road as they left, staring at the departing car. What did he know about farm animals? Maybe they really did stare at you.

They drove in silence for several miles and Dean could tell Sam was mulling something over. He was frowning and drumming his fingers on his leg.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"About earlier. What Clara was saying…"

Dean sighed. "Man, you gotta quit listening to the ghosts. They've got more issues than National Geographic."

"I'm not _listening_ to the ghosts," Sam said defensively. "I just…"

Dean stopped him with a wave of his hand. "Look, ghosts… They get us… but they don't _get_ us." He cleared his throat. "They say brainwashed, I say I'm just takin' care of what I care about most. You do the same." He gave Sam a lopsided smile. "You just go about it a little differently. That big brain of yours keeps getting in the way."

Sam gave him a sidelong glance. "Still, she said we asked you to be…" He trailed off, thinking again. "If you could change one thing about me what would it be?" he asked suddenly.

Dean snorted. "You mean aside from the obvious?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam said, his eyes narrowed.

Dean grinned. "Nothin'."

"I'm being serious here, man."

"And I thought this was an Abbott and Costello routine. Who's on first, the cow's on second."

Sam shook his head, clearly not about to be sidetracked. "It's just… I was thinking about what she told you. That what Dad and I made you into," he said slowly, "That that's why you made the deal."

Without even looking Dean could tell Sam was watching him closely. He unthinkingly tightened his grip on the steering wheel and hissed at the resulting pain from his injured hand. He knew it was a mess and he was an idiot for driving with it. "Look, I know you still think I'm a moron-"

"You're not a moron, Dean," Sam cut him off. "You're smart, have freakishly dead-on instincts, and you're assertive to a fault." He frowned. "I just wish you would be that way about yourself, instead of just for me."

Dean shrugged, noting the burns barely gave him a twinge. "I don't need to be that way about myself."

Sam shook his head in disbelief. "And what makes you think that?"

Dean cast him a brief glance, then went back to looking out the windshield. "I got you. You watch my back, I watch yours. It's the way it works."

Sam sighed, though Dean noted a slightly pleased grin tugging at the corners of his brother's mouth. Then the expression vanished, replaced by a scowl.

"What did you mean 'the obvious'?" Sam asked.

Dean turned the radio on, smiling as the music blasted through the speakers. "Nothin', Sammy. Not a thing."

* * *

_Thanks for sticking with this one. Hope you enjoyed it. I do sincerely apologize to those of you who were hoping Dean would be a were-cow._


End file.
